Music and Morphine
by sid-thepunk
Summary: House is in major pain so he takes some painkillers then plays some music.
1. Johnny Cash Hurt

**Title:** Music and Morphine (1/2)  
**Chapter:** One - Hurt  
**Author:** Sid the Punk  
**Summary: **House is in major pain so he takes some painkillers then plays some music.  
**Characters:** House/Wilson (one-sided)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warning:** Drug use.  
**Spoilers:** Nothing I can think of.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own House, MD, Johnny Cash or the song _Hurt_. How sad…  
**A/N:** Yo-yo! Impulse!fic, just started to listen to Johnny Cash's _Hurt_ and I was like "FIC!" and wrote this up. Hope you enjoy. Now it has been proof read thank you to **bukabe16**.

The day went by in flashes of pain, the pills didn't do much more then the pacing did for him and the pain started to take its toil. For once in his life he didn't want to climb the steps to the small metal box. He really didn't, but he didn't want to be in pain either. He tried to sleep the white hotness away but every time he was almost there the flashes of pain came back to life. He couldn't take it if he wasn't hunched over or leaning on something. The reason for putting off getting the hard stuff was that he didn't need it. He wanted it, God, so very much. He wanted it. But he didn't want to need it. He couldn't need it. If he needed it then Wilson would be right…right? _No, wait what?!_ He tried to think this over as he slid down the hall wall. If he needed it for the pain, the real pain that was there in his leg and not his head, then yes, he could take it. He got back up and limped heavily over to the steps that led to the sweet aid of drugs. Once there, he took down the small metal combination box and dropped to the floor on one leg, he shuffled over to his couch and rolled the numbers from 00000 to 22869 to unlock. House pulled out the small vial of medication and the needle.

He poked a hole with the needle through his skin, and then pushed in the drugs. Taking little time to work, it's wonderful magic made the pain in his leg go away. No more flashes of pain or ragged breath as he tried to walk. He sat there for a few minutes breathing easy and deeply. When he opened his eyes he dragged his gaze to the guitar on the wall. He limped over to it and pulled it down. The acoustic one from when he was in the 8th grade. Taking to guitar he laid down on the couch looking at the ceiling and started to play the first song on his mind.

_A minor, C, D,  
A minor, C, D,  
A minor_

"I hurt myself today," He sang along as the chords progressed. "To see if I still feel." As he sang each word he did as the song told. After he had sung and played the first verse he continued with the chorus, strumming a little bit harder then necessary.

"What have I become? My sweetest friend," He thought of Wilson. Snapping at him today, being more of a jerk then normal, he had said some pretty mean stuff, even by his standards. "Everyone I know goes away in the end," At the end of the day Wilson hadn't even come looking for him. "And you could have it all, My empire of dirt, I will let you down, I will make you hurt." After that first chorus he felt more like Johnny Cash's best friend then Wilson's.

_A minor, C, D,  
A minor, C, D,  
A minor,_

"I wear this crown of thorns, upon my liar's chair," He played the same progression as before. _C, D, A minor, _just like the first verse. "Full of broken thoughts, I cannot repair." He thought through the songs lyrics as he played them. Once, his broken thoughts had been all about Stacy after his infarction, but know they were all about Wilson. Not to confuse this with guilt, nothing of that sort, maybe a little sorrow but nothing more then wishing he were more then best friends with his only friend. "Beneath the stains of time, the feelings disappear." His way with Wilson had become just the same as before he had fallen for him, after listening to the song many times before he started to understand the lyrics in new ways. "You are someone else, I am still right here." He knew the last lyrical line spoke for its self and he hit that last _G_ of the second verse even harder then before.

"What have I become? My sweetest friend," Wilson overwhelmed his thoughts again. Hitting _C, F, C, G_ harder and harder with each passing word. "Everyone I know goes away in the end." There was a knock at his door, but he didn't notice. "And you could have it all," He would give Wilson anything to come back. "My empire of dirt," Wilson gave his job for him once and he would do the same, now that he thought about it. "I will let you down," But then again, maybe he wouldn't. "I will make you hurt." That's all he ever did to Wilson. The sound of a key turning in the lock didn't warrant any notice from him nor did the person who walked in. He was lost in the music.

"If I could start again," He wouldn't know what to do with himself. "A million miles away," _C_ and _F_ were hit almost to hard for the strings to handle. He knew he couldn't stand to be that far away from his only friend, even if it hurt being just his friend at the same time. "I would keep myself, I would find a way." He finished off the last note with a soft strum that didn't fit with all the anger that seemed to be put into the rest of the song.

Wilson walked into his line of view as he put his head back on the armrest of the couch. He let his hand lightly grip the guitars neck, the other hand still holding the pick remained on the strings. He knew there were tears in his eyes and running down his face. Wilson's expression was worried as he walked over to the limp form on the couch, even more so after seeing the familiar vial of medicine and the needle on the coffee table. Wilson took a seat on the side of the couch, though there was barely enough space.

"How much?" Wilson requested from him; maybe he thought it was for the kicks, not the real reason, namely pain.

"Enough," He told his friend, carefully putting down the guitar.

"Enough for what?" The panic splashed color in Wilson's voice, colors he didn't want to hear.  
"To take away the pain…" He shrugged.

"Not to kill you?" He shook his head, confirming it wasn't suicide. "God…you scared me." Wilson looked down at the floor. "You seemed upset today."

"My leg hurt," Wilson gave him a questioning look. "More then normal." He admitted.

"I'm sorry," This time it was his turn to look confused. "I didn't believe you when you told me it hurt that badly, or maybe I thought it was in your head."

"I played you a song…" He told Wilson, before he knew what he was doing.

"What?" Wilson looked over to the guitar.

"Johnny Cash," He closed his eyes. "Hurt by Johnny Cash," he clarified for Wilson, who still looked confused. "I'm sorry I hurt you James…" He noticed he wasn't really being himself, or maybe he was being himself but without the armor that was up every hour of every day of every year. He was a jerk, no doubt about that, armor or no armor, but he was cable of being human without that armor up.

"…What…?" Wilson tilted his head to the side. "About what you said today? Don't worry, you've said worse-"

"Doesn't matter if I've done worse things." He rolled a little onto his left side to see Wilson better. "I'm sorry I hurt you all the time." He reached a hand out for Wilson's. "I'm sorry about most of the things I've done to you." He knew he wasn't sorry for everything; he was trying to make that clear. Wilson seemed to understand something he himself didn't, since Wilson gave him a small smile.

"Its okay," Wilson patted him on the arm. "Let me get you something to drink." Wilson stood and went into the kitchen. He heard the water running and soon Wilson was back. "Here, drink some of this." He handed him the water.

"Thank you," He drank most of the glass, Wilson sat the half full cup on the coffee table.

"You're welcome." Wilson started to stand up, but House grabbed his wrist.

"I think I'm in love with you, James," He said boldly, trying to sit up. Wilson's eyes widened. "More then a best friend should and way more then I ever loved Stacy." Wilson swallowed and broke free of his soft grip. "James?" He fell back onto the armrest, just like he had before Wilson walked in.

"I'll see you later House," Wilson told him with his back turned and headed for the door as quickly as he could.

He lay on the couch; a few stray tears fell from his eyes before he picked up the same vial of Morphine and the same needle, ready to kill it all away. He rubbed roughly at his eyes to make the tears stop falling, but they didn't. Eventually, he dropped the vial and the needle and, later, blamed the crying on his pain.


	2. The Rolling Stones Sister Morphine

**Title:** Music and Morphine (2/2)  
**Chapter:** Two – Sister Morphine  
**Author:** Sid the Punk  
**Summary: **Wilson wouldn't even look at him.  
**Characters:** House/Wilson  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warning:** Uh…drug use? Yeah.  
**Spoilers:** Nothing I can think of.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own House, MD, The Rolling Stones or the song _Sister Morphine_. How sad…  
**A/N:** Hello all, so this is the second part to my Impulse!fic. Thanks to Bukab!!!!

The week went by a little like this for House after he had told Wilson he was in love with him. Wilson wouldn't even look at him and House became even more self-destructive then normal. He had gone home and gotten high four days out of seven with the use of Cocaine. His fellows looked at him with concern, even Foreman.

It was the end of the week now as House found his way to the couch. Friday again, the last day of the week now his least favorite day of all. Bob Dylan was playing non-stop around the apartment which didn't help House out at all, with him wanting to be high every chance he got and the depression up on him again.

_Ballad Of A Thin Man_ was racking his place with noise now, but he wasn't high yet. Starting to like Mister Jones seemed odd when you're not high, but for some reason the day before House had set his CD player on replay for _Ballad Of A Thin Man_ when he snorted the last of his Cocaine.

But today was different, because Wilson had looked at him today, with pity and concern and many other things, but House missed the gleam of love in his eye. When Wilson stole the first glance across the hall House nearly ran home to fly his kite, but he couldn't get out of his Clinic Hours. Now he was in an empty shell that he called home but that didn't matter because his morphine was just a few steps away. Once he had gotten the energy to do so, he got the box from the top of the shelf. His leg didn't hurt very much today, really almost nothing. But he was still hurting, so morphine would be good. He switched all the zeros on the box to 22869. House pulled out the needle and vial and with trembling hands he shot up.

Like the Friday before he pulled his gaze to the same guitar on the wall, he stood and took it off the wall to play a song. Almost nothing came to mind but once he clicked off Mr. Bob Dylan a song popped into his head.

_Am7, A minor,_

_Am7, A minor,_

"Here I lie in my hospital bed," House's fingers danced over the board, flying from _Am7_ to _A minor_ and back as he sang. "Tell me, sister morphine, when are you coming round again." House's fingers flowing easily through the haze of drugs into the chords of _Dsus2, A minor, Dsus2, A minor_. "Oh, I don't think I can wait that long, Oh, you see that I'm not that strong."

_Am7, Am, Am7_

"The scream of the ambulance is sounding in my ears. Tell me, sister morphine, how long have I been lying here?" House could count the hours he spent that week on that couch hoping that Wilson would come in and yell at him for being so stupid. "What am I doing in this place?" His fingers came off of _A minor_ to jump into a rift of _G _and_ F_, "Why does the doctor have no face?"_ G_ and _F_ again. His strumming held a sharp hint to it that cut into him. "Oh, I can't crawl across the floor. As can't you see, sister morphine, I'm trying to score."

House didn't seem to notice the knocking on his door again; it was most likely the guy from up stairs telling him to shut the hell up. So that door stayed closed. When the knocking resumed in the middle of his solo, House yelled out to the person on the other side of the door to go away.

"Well it just goes to show, things are not what they seem," The four chord progression had his mind working enough so that he didn't have to think about the lyrics of the song. "Please, sister morphine, turn my nightmares into dreams." He begged that the unlocking of the door wasn't the morphine playing ticks. "Oh, can't you see I'm fading fast?" He started to feel very sleepy around this time. "And that this shot will be my last." Maybe he put to much into the needle, he wondered if he would be able to finish the song.

"Sweet cousin cocaine," _Am7 _then House dragged his hand to _A minor_. "Lay your cool, cool, hand on my head." House felt a warm hand over his forehead and knew the drugs were starting to get the best of him. "Ah, come oh, sister morphine, you better make up my bed." The hand moved down to check his pulse. "Cause you know and I know in the morning I'll be dead." House could hear talking but didn't acknowledge it. He wanted to finish the song before the drugs finished him. "Yeah, and you can sit around, yeah and you can watch all the," _G _to _F _again and the last line of the song was coming. "Clean white sheets stained red." He finished the song _A minor, F, E, A minor._

The warm hand moved away and the dialing of a cell phone could be heard. House worked up the courage to see who was standing in front of him trying to help. When his eyes opened he saw a man with brown hair, brown eyes and concern written all over his face. _Wilson_. House smiled up at the other man.

"House?" He crouched down in front of the couch. "House can you hear me?"

"Jimmy," House smiled lazily. "Why are you here?"

"Because you've been fucking yourself up all damn week!" Wilson took the guitar from his hands.

"But you came…" House held out his hand for Wilson to take.

"Yeah, House, I came," Wilson took the hand.

"Are you staying this time?" He rolled onto his side.

"Yes," Wilson leaned down and kissed his forehead. "As long as you stay."

"Deal," House's words came slowly as he fell asleep.

House woke up in the hospital sometime after that, only to find Wilson asleep in one of the chairs. Cuddy walked in with a chart in her hand. He was later told by Cuddy that in the two nights House had been unconscious, Wilson wouldn't leave for anything.


End file.
